


Green Glass

by violet_persephone



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Medical Experimentation, Mermaids, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Science Fiction, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sirens, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_persephone/pseuds/violet_persephone
Summary: Cain Westower has worked as a marine biologist and psychologist for the Dover South Oceania Institution for five years. He works diligently to abide by their rules, and become a noteworthy biologist. After discovering a rare creature in Antarctic waters, Cain's beliefs begin to be questioned as he grows closer to the mystical girl that was pulled from the ocean.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

The Aphrodite SS rocked violently upon the furious Antarctic waters, waves shoving it from left to right in a nauseating dance. Cain wondered how the ocean—the gorgeous stretch of mysterious waters— could become so fatal. Although he would never stop adoring it, Cain silently begged the ocean to stop its hostilities, or else he was going to lose his last meal. 

From where he stood in the bridge, Cain could see the black waves tumbling over one another. They slapped the metal sides of the ship, causing it to lurch and tremble. Beside him, Captain Gerard Street bellowed orders to his crew, attempting to guide them through the storm without much damage. Men ran about frantically, some on deck and some on the bridge. Below them, the deck was flooded with salt water. The heavy rainfall showed no sign of ceasing, and neither did the attack of waves.

Cain felt utterly helpless. He was in no way trained in the ways of a sailor. Unless anyone needed knowledge about the ocean’s ecosystem and the life that inhabited it, he was no use. It was strange, putting the control in the sailors’ hands. He’d tried to assist their cause, attempting to direct the men and inform them of the action on deck. However, Captain Street hadn’t been pleased with his efforts. 

As he stood behind the intricate control panel, Cain’s foot tapped rapidly. Every bone in his body was just itching to do something, anything. Instead, he took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. The time was quarter til midnight. He huffed in annoyance. If the storm wasn’t plaguing them, Cain could focus on his work. But because of the storm, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. In that moment, Cain cursed his own mind.

Beside him, his colleague appeared equally as troubled. Oliver Orchard turned towards him, his skin pale and green. 

“If I die on this ship, damn you to hell, Cain Westower.”

Cain rolled his eyes. “I didn’t force you to be here, remember? And don’t fret, the crew has everything under control.” He wasn’t sure whether or not they had control, but he wasn’t about to say that. 

Orchard carded his fingers through his brown curls, his hand trembling. “This is not what I signed up for,” He quipped, his dark eyes searing through Cain’s skin. “I came here to study the ocean, not to die from it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cain replied. Cain had no idea why Orchard would specialize in the topic when he seemed so appalled by it. Even back at Dover, when they first began working with one another at the Institution, Orchard was squeamish while working with organisms. In Cain’s opinion, if one decides to work with Biology, one must be prepared to work with it. “It will all be worth it in the end. God, have you forgotten why we’re here?” 

His colleague glared at him. “Of course not. We might as well end this. Cain, we’ve been on this damn boat for months. We haven’t found anything.” 

Cain’s stomach dropped. They travelled throughout the Atlantic through the summer months, docking occasionally on the eastern coasts of both North and South America. They’d observed a handful of peculiar species around the Caribbean, mostly sharks and various dolphins. Although additional observation was beneficial to their previous research, it wasn’t a necessity. It wasn’t what they were after. 

Cain and his colleagues had voyaged along the vast waters of the Atlantic ocean, throughout warm and cold waters, searching for a specific organism. An organism in which the Dover South Oceania Institution had been studying for eighty years. 

After five years working with the Institution, Cain liked to think of himself as essential to their cause. He’d been chosen to lead a research voyage, after all. However, as with Orchard, Cain was becoming increasingly restless. All the travel, and all the time, yet they still had nothing. The voyage was costing the Institution thousands of pounds, and if their expedition didn’t bare fruit, surely the project would be cut. 

As he stared across the flooding deck at the scrambling sailors, Cain couldn’t help but wonder if it was all his fault. If he’d led his men into some wild goose chase. The thought caused his heart to feel as heavy as lead. More than anything, he didn’t want to fail. Would he dedicate years and years of his life to the cause, only for it all to go to waste? 

He prayed that his doubt didn’t show on his face. He’d always been an open book. Orchard seemed much too distracted, though. He was focused intently on the angry ocean. 

“Everything will be fine.” Cain said absently. While the statement was made for Orchard, he attempted to reassure himself as well. 

A particularly aggressive wave collided with the side of the ship, shoving it eastwards. Cain and Orchard stumbled to the side. Cain scrambled to steady himself. Around him, men were screaming. Everything became a blur of water and fear. Cain clutched a metal table, his knuckles pale and trembling. To his right, Orchard was bellowing something. It was drowned out by the roar of waves and wind. 

Cain looked out to the deck. Sailors no longer sprinted from one side of the ship to the other, they were gathered at the left side. They were pointing to something, something in the raging black water. The men were shouting. Cain frowned, alarming curiosity possessing him to release his grip and walk to the wide bridge window. The sailors’ attention was no longer on the storm. The rain barrelled down on them, yet they paid it no mind. They continued to point and shout. 

“What the hell are they doing?” Orchard yelled. 

The door to the bridge opened with a screech, the door hinges tugging against the screws. Captain Street barged in, soaked from head to toe. His boots squealed against the metal floor as he stomped closer to Cain. 

“There’s somethin’ in the water.” He panted through his dripping beard. 

“What?” Orchard exclaimed. “What is in the water?”

Street motioned to them with a burly hand. “Come quick.” 

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the corridor. Captain Street never spoke so shortly. Cain wasn’t sure what to think. He tightened his overcoat around himself and followed the captain, despite the tight feeling within his throat. Behind him, Orchard was yelling in protest. Cain ignored him. 

As he ran onto the deck, Cain was hit by the torturous winds and rained that plagued the sailors. His shoes slipped against the sotten metal beneath him, nearly sending him tumbling back into the corridor from which he came from. Pellets of rain pierced his skin. Salt water burned his eyes. He held a hand above his face, attempting to shield himself. Gritting his teeth, Cain forced himself to push through, to take agonizing steps. In front of him, the sailors continued their uproar, clearer to Cain now. They shouted of the something in the water. They shouted that it was larger than any fish. They shouted that it was as white as a pearl against the onyx waters.

Cain faltered. Could it be? 

He could faintly hear his colleague behind him. He didn’t pay much attention to him; he was intent on reaching the side of the ship without falling overboard. 

“Street!” Cain bellowed. 

The captain appeared at his side, panting like a dog. “The water,” he spat. “Look in the water.” 

He slid to the side of the ship, gripping the metal wall and peered into the vast depths. 

“What am I supposed to see?” Cain asked Captain Street. 

“It was as white as the moon,” Street yelled over the shrieking wind. “Thought it was a shark or a whale. It’s longer, you see. One of my men thought he saw some manner of face.”

Cain felt very faint. His hands shook violently. His breathing had quickened tremendously. 

Before he could say a word, a single voice broke above the rest, shrill and panicked. 

“I see it!” screeched Oliver Orchard. “I see it! It’s there! Catch it!”

Orchard repeated the statement, over and over again. Cain struggled to process it all. The unlikely occurrence had caused his entire mind to restart. Street was yelling orders to his men. He stared back at Cain, expectant. 

Cain nodded to him. “Bring it in.”

Street turned straight to his men, commanding they extend the chain nets into the raging sea. They did so, securing them tightly and pointing their lights down to the waves. The sailors yelled to one another, shifting the nets as needed. The ship began to drift to the side, realigned to their target. 

“It keeps going further down!” A sailor shouted to Captain Street. “Down and East.”

“Use the paddle boats,” Street ordered. “Surround it.” 

The men scrambled to the sides of the ship, eagerly unlatching the paddle boats secured there. Cain abruptly remembered the necessary supplies for the circumstance. 

“Oliver, get the med kit and restraints! We sure as hell may need them.” 

He didn’t have to look to know Orchard was obeying his orders. Cain watched the sailors lower the boats into the choppy waves; they struggled to keep the boats balanced, shoving the oars into the water and attempting to gain control. 

On deck, the men more and more net from its spool. The net was uniquely made; tight chain made it up, its purpose to ensnare something much more savvy than a fish. The Institution had them custom made. An entire net, spanning over thirty feet, costing more than the Aphrodite SS itself. It didn’t linger at the surface of the water, it sank immediately. The net was as resilient as the creature it was meant to capture. 

Cain prayed the creature in the water was what they had been searching for. 

The sailors in the paddle boats grabbed various ends of the net, lifting it to create an underwater barricade, surrounding the creature. With all their might, the men began to tug. Tighter and tighter they pulled it. Captain Street swore. 

The men shouted abruptly as the net lurched in their grasp. Beside Cain, the sailors cursed and groaned, struggling to keep their grip. Clearly, whatever they had captured was struggling to escape. The water itself had begun to bubble. Just beneath the surface of the water, Cain could see it. Something long, something white in color. It was thrashing, fighting against the ambush of net and men. The men jabbed their oars into the water, forcing the creature further into the trap. The boats edged in, closer and closer, drawing the net tighter. The sailors extended the latch, weaving it through the chain link to secure it. After a long struggle, they began to pull. Twenty men on deck pulled and grunted with effort. Cain clenched the wall so hard he thought his knuckles might break. The wind and rain slapped his face, but he no longer cared. As the net began to descend from the water, his blood was lava within his veins. 

The white object came closer and closer to the water. The sailors gave a furious tug, and the white object--the tail, it was very clear to Cain-- broke the surface. It was pearly white. It was slender and long, covered in shining scales, the fin extended like an angel’s wing. It thrashed against the water, its fin slapping at the surface. 

The net rose. Further and further. Lengths of the tail surfaced. Inch by inch, the net was lifted. The white scales began to gradiate into skin. Pale white skin. Then the length of a thin torso, then breasts, then arms and shoulders and a head. Flowing from the scalp was hair as white as a winter rose. 

Cain was trembling. A grin broke across his face, and he laughed. The men around him were screaming and cursing, but he ignored them. Cain couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted himself. He had done it.

Staring into the pale, glowing blue eyes, Cain was exhilarated. 

He had caught a syren.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ocean discovery causes conflict among Cain and his colleagues.

It was very clearly a female. The breasts weren’t the only indication; it was smaller in size than that of male syreni. Even smaller than a full grown female, if Cain thought about it. The tail was shorter, although it was plenty long as it was. 

The net was lifted and placed on the deck. The syren bucked wildly, blindly clawing at the chain link. Cain noticed she had unsheathed her talons from her slender fingers. 

“Bloody hell,” Captain Street muttered. “I didn’t think we’d catch one, I have to admit.” 

Cain hadn’t either, but he didn’t want to admit that. 

Orchard had gone to fetch their other colleagues. The sailors gathered around the syren, staring at her in awe. 

“My! I’ve never seen somethin’ so white!”

“Look at its fingers! See its claws?”

“Jesus, what a freak o’ nature.” 

The syren continued to claw desperately at her prison. Her luminescent eyes flickered to each figure above her. Her eyes were wide and full of panic. A few of the sailors took a step forward, hands reaching out curiously. 

“Don’t touch her.” Cain snapped, glaring at the men. “She’s panicked. You could lose a hand if you touch her right now.” 

The sailors muttered among themselves and stepped away. 

The door to the deck opened abruptly. Orchard sprinted out first, followed by Edward Bishop, Melvin Symond, Charles Sladen, Henry Vice, and Louis Worrel. Cain’s colleagues carried several things, medical bags and cameras alike. Cain nodded to Orchard. 

Symond reached the syren first, a camera grasped tightly in hand. The camera flashed, and the syren cringed. 

Bishop stomped up to Cain. “How long has it been surfaced?”

“About five minutes.” Cain replied. “She hasn’t dried. She wouldn’t be able to, in this rain.”

Bishop glared at him, his wrinkled brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you get us out sooner? Jesus, Westower--” 

“I was occupied,” snapped Cain, “If I’d wasted a moment of that time, she would’ve been long gone.” 

In front of them, the syren hissed abruptly. Cain looked at her. Sladen knelt beside her, his hands covered by thick rubber gloves. 

“Orchard,” Sladen said. “Put it out.”

Orchard extended a tranquilizing pistol from his medical bag. He fiddled with the long black barrel, then extended it towards the syren. She hissed, thrashing against the net. With a pop, Orchard shot the pistol, sending a dart into the syren’s waist. Cain watched as her thrashing began to cease, and her captivating eyes began to droop. The syren went limp, but her chest still rose with the steady rhythm of her breathing. 

Sladen reached forward, his gloved fingers coming into contact with the syren’s skin. He felt along her neck and chest before moving down to her tail. 

“It appears healthy,” said Sladen. “A healthy female, probably under twenty years of age.” 

Salden was truly gifted when it came to the anatomy of the syreni. Cain trusted his word. Charles Salden was one of the most qualified people at the Institution; He’d been with the DSOI for ten years, and he was only one year older than Cain. 

Symond continued to take photographs, the camera light flashing vividly. Bishop and Vice approached the syren, prodding at her skin and scales. Her tail was about six feet in length, a beautiful thing of thick scale and muscle. Bishop ordered the net to be removed. A tarp was laid across the deck, and syren was disentangled from the chain link and transferred to the tarp. She was laid on her back, completely accessible to the men. Cain thought her hair looked like a halo around her face. 

Bishop studied her intently for a moment. Then he rose from his kneeling position, his lips pursed. “This one will do just fine.” 

Cain nodded in agreement. The DSOI would be pleased when they received his next report. The project was officially in motion. Cain knew his work would become much more challenging, but he welcomed it. He craved it, as he looked down at this creature, this beautiful, strange creature. Cain greeted this challenge with open arms. 

He turned to the gathered sailors. “Grab the ends of the tarp,” He told them. “We’ll carry her below deck, to the laboratory.” 

The sailors looked between one another. After a moment, men came forward. They lifted the tarp, the syren cradled limply within. 

Cain and his colleagues watched the sailors and followed behind them, soaked to the bone. 

Symond shifted restlessly, his hands fiddled with his camera. “I hadn’t a clue that Antarctic syreni were so damn pale. The icy temperatures must impact the melanin in the skin and hair, yes?” 

Vice nodded. “That’s my theory. I’ll consider it when I collect samples. I’m very curious to see if she has similar DNA to Subject 1211514.” 

“I doubt it,” said Orchard. “They’re from completely different regions.” 

“Not to mention completely different ecosystems,” Salden added. “You can tell simply from appearance that their genes are varying.” 

Cain clenched his fists and stuffed them in his coat pockets. “I suppose we’ll just have to see. Let’s get to work, gentlemen. There is so much to be done.” 

~~~

The makeshift laboratory was nothing compared to those at the Institution. It was simply a large steel room. They had filled it with equipment, including a long surgical table, various pumps and tanks with a variety of tubes, and cooling boxes that were monstrous in size. Above it all, they had hung the brightest lights they could find. 

The syren was laid on the surgical table. The table itself was about nine feet long; the syren, completely flat against the metal. almost extended along the entire table. 

After throwing on his thick white coat—which acted as a protective covering— Cain was the first to examine the syren. Bishop was displeased by this, but Cain dutifully reminded him that he was the leader of the project. Cain had revelled in the pure annoyance that had flashed across the old man’s face. 

Cain gazed at the syren as he slipped thin rubber gloves over his hands. She appeared as though peacefully sleeping. Syreni were known for their mystifying beauty, either male or female. Different regions of the ocean produced different traits in a syren. It influenced such things as appearance or behaviors, but whatever the differences, the syreni were gorgeous beings. 

The female on the table was no different. Her face was delicately shaped like a heart, the round curves balanced with the pronounced edges of her jaw. Her facial features were all quite round, from her eyes to her cheeks to her plush, full lips. Her skin was completely white, devoid of any darker tones. The same was true of her hair. Her arms were thick with muscle. Her smooth, prominent collarbones sloped towards her large breasts. Her stomach was a round valley of muscle and slight fat, just at the bottom of her abdomen. The scales of her tail began just beneath that. 

Although he’d seen many before, Cain was fascinated by the syren. She was so very similar—yet so very different— from humans. It was an unpopular opinion among Cain and his colleagues. Bishop disagreed vehemently; he and Cain often debated the topic, which would quickly become an argument. Bishop held few common beliefs with Cain. 

Carefully, Cain took the syren’s wrist in his hands. He checked her pulse, pleased to find it beating steadily. He laid her wrist at her side. 

“Stable?” Bishop asked, appearing at the opposite side of the table. He too had covered himself with a white surgical coat and gloves. 

“Yes.” Cain replied. 

Bishop withdrew a long needle. He attached it to a long tube, which led to a glass tank nearby. As Cain pressed his hands gently to the syren’s torso—examining her—Bishop lifted her arm and pressed the needle into the flesh of her inner elbow. Dark, dark red—almost black—blood flowed from the needle into the tube. It drizzled into the glass tank. Cain began to examine her tail, searching for any abnormalities. From what he could tell, the syren appeared perfectly healthy. 

Vice slid open the syren’s eyes and studied them using a small light. He then did the same with her mouth.

Cain slid on his glasses and took the syren’s left hand in his. Her hand was drastically smaller than his own. Cain’s mouth twitched slightly, his fingers holding the syren’s delicately. Her talons were sheathed. The syreni talons were hidden in a thin sheath, just above their fingernails, called the nathos. One could hardly notice it. The knife-like edge of the hidden talon was often mistaken for some sort of cuticle. This mistake could be fatal, Cain had seen it before. At university, Cain’s peer had made the mistake while examining a certain Subject 481924—a female, often nicknamed Eleanor—and ended up in a morgue. After that, Eleanor was classified a code blue—aggressive and a danger to others. The result was complete isolation for the subject. 

Cain pulled tweezers from his pocket. He warily took a small piece of skin from the nathos and placed it in a sample tube. He would leave the rest for his colleagues. While he was trained in the study of the syreni and their anatomy, he wasn’t equipped to perform surgical procedures. 

Pulling the gloves from his hands, Cain stepped away from the syren. His stomach felt heavy; he didn’t want to step away. But he did nonetheless, reminding himself not to become too eager. He wasn’t going to risk his position by acting like an anxious intern. 

“Inform me of any new information,” Cain told his colleagues. “We should have the basic facts by the time we file the report.” 

Vice nodded. Bishop didn’t look up from his task. 

Cain removed his white coat and hung it up in a locker. He wandered into the small office beside the laboratory, used to store files and miscellaneous supplies. Orchard was leaned against the desk in the middle of the room, arms crossed and face pale. 

“Orchard.” Cain said, walking to him. He frowned, Orchard’s eyes seemed dull. “Are you alright?” 

Orchard sighed shakily and his eyes flickered to Cain, then back to the floor. He wheezed, attempting to laugh. “Spooks new every time, Cain. Seeing one of those things.” 

“Oliver. You needn’t worry. Everything is under control, we have the control. The Institution wouldn’t have let you come along if they hadn’t thought you we’re capable.” 

Orchard’s leg bounced. He shrugged, not meeting Cain’s eyes. 

“It can be overwhelming,” Cain admitted. “But we shouldn’t lose our heads over it. You worked with Laurence, for Christ’s sake.” 

“Subject 1211514 was different,” Orchard mused, his hands falling to rest against his knees. “Technically I wasn’t a member of the project. I just assisted.” 

He threw his hands in the air and sighed in exasperation. 

“At least Laurence looked somewhat human. This one, this thing… it’s fucking albino. Not even that!” 

A twinge of annoyance sparked in Cain. Although he attempted to encourage and direct, Cain couldn’t resolve narrow-mindedness. It frustrated him, how differently he and Orchard viewed the syren, laid just feet away from where they stood. 

“Do humans not come in different shades?” He asked Orchard. “Do other species not have differing aspects of appearance, determined by their native environments? Oliver, please think like a biologist. Please don’t let your opinions cloud the facts.”

“I always think like a biologist,” Orchard snapped. “My opinion doesn’t impact my work.” 

“It is.” Cain replied shortly. 

Orchard scoffed. “Westower, do you ever take a step back and reflect on what we’ve done in this institution?”

“You’ve known that syreni---” 

“Yes, I’ve studied and interacted with plenty of syreni. But Laurence? Attempting to make those things human? It’s so fucked.” 

“No one is forcing you to be here, Oliver,” Cain replied. “You knew the hypothesis before you came. You knew Laurence, about his transformation. Why is this any different?” 

“I’ve told you. It just is. These are beasts, not---”

“Easy, Oliver. Let’s not get our feathers ruffled. You should go lie down. Clear your head.” 

Oliver stared at his shoes, then nodded wearily. He sighed, his shoulders drooping, and stood. Cain pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered it to him, a peace offering. Orchard took one. Cain provided a light. Orchard sauntered away, smoke trailing through the air. Cain was alone. 

He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. Orchard’s words echoed through his mind, twisting around and confusing him. After a pregnant pause, Cain turned to a filing cabinet behind the desk. He sifted through the various folders and documents until he came upon the one he was searching for. He settled into the seat at the desk and placed the folder on the polished wooden surface. The folder was labelled bluntly: Subject 1211514, Laurence White.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is revealed about the Institution and its past experiments.

Subject 1211514, given the name Laurence White, was discovered near the Gulf of Mexico. When he was pulled from the water, his full form measured almost nine feet in length. One could easily mistake him for a human, from the torso up. His skin was tanned and brown, his hair toned dark brown. His tail had been an earthy greenish—brown. Overall, he was a large male in good health. He’d been the perfect subject for the project. 

He’d been transported by ship back to Dover, to the DSOI base. For three months, the team of doctors and biologists had observed the subject’s health and behavior. The subject had adjusted well to the new environment, his behavior and health were consistent, unlike some subjects before him. The team began applying small changes, changing diets and water temperatures. The subject continued to perform well. After collecting a precis, the team disputed on how they would continue. Eventually, it was decided Subject 1211514 would become the subject of their hypothesis. 

Throughout the years, the Institution had gathered an abundance of information relating to the anatomy and behaviors of the syreni. The species was no longer foreign to them; they’d observed them, had gathered knowledge from various subjects that resided at the Institution. They knew how the syren’s body worked, inside and out. They had studied the organisms’ DNA, their cells, the very molecules of their bodies. However, they lacked very valid information. They lacked the knowledge of the syreni mind. They had not been able to determine why certain behaviors were performed, why some syreni acted violently by nature—for no apparent reason—while others were temperamental and responded well to the treatment. The Institution was unable to analyze if the syreni were able to comprehend the actions of the doctors and biologists, or if they were able to form logical thoughts and opinions. While the subjects resided in water-filled enclosures, they were extremely difficult to read. They had no constant behaviors, they behaved much like a fish in an aquarium, despite their similarities to the human species. 

The team had begun to theorize a solution, running into a myriad of problems. A doctor by the name of Valentino Johnson, one of the leading scientists of the project, theorized along with his colleagues. After months of reviewing research, Johnson dared to ask the question: Were syreni as intelligent as humans? Were their complex thoughts unable to be expressed because they were obfuscated on the wild syreni tongue? In their natural habitats, the syreni communicated using symbolic hisses and clicks, similarly to a dolphin. As a result of the syreni’s lack of a cosmopolitan language, were they prisoners of their own mind, waiting to be enlightened by the orderly language and society of humans?

Johnson found these theories intriguing, and hastily produced his greatest work, the anthology of evidence and medical research resulting in a singular hypothesis: If the syreni were introduced into an environment that differed from the feral ecosystem that they previously resided in, then the syreni could effectively communicate their internal psychology or lack of such. 

But how? How could a syren be effectively integrated into a human society? They were a sea creature, after all. 

Reflecting upon previously gathered medical information, Johnson realized there were an abundance of similarities in human and syreni DNA. Therefore, Johnson asked the question: Could the cells of a syren be manipulated to mimic those of a human? Could the body of a syren be changed by editing these cells?

Johnson gathered evidence from hundreds of precises, and observed how the anatomy of the syren might be altered. He conducted several experiments; Johnson had dissected various tails, took samples of bone and flesh. Then he combined various mutations of human and syren cells, and observed the different results. Johnson recognized how the syren’s femurs were almost identical to that of a human. Unlike a human’s, the syreni’s patella and tibia were fused into one. They acted as a sort of spine within the tail. 

After almost four years of research, Johnson shared his completed work with his colleagues and superiors. He had written multiple journals, and within each were instructions to do the unthinkable, manipulate the cells of a syren to give them human-like legs. The journals were titled the Transitus Commentarius, and the process to transform a syren’s tail to legs was called Obumbratio. 

The procedure was conducted June 12, 1932, two years before Cain and his team travelled to Antartica. Subject 1211514 was the focus. The procedure lasted a total of three days, six hours, and four seconds. Johnson and his team were unsure if the male would even survive. He did, and the procedure was a success. Subject 1211514 no longer had the lower half of a syren. He had the features of a human, the legs of a human. Valentino Johnson became one of the wealthiest men in England. 

~~~

As he leaned back in his chair, Cain’s eyes scanned across the report over and over. He’d read it before, everyone at the Institution had. It was practically the Bible. Cain read and reread the reports detailing Subject 1211514’s progress. He had been transformed for two years. As a result of his integration into human society, the Institution had gifted him with the name Laurence White. He resided with Professor Elmer Claydale, and acted as Claydale’s ward. 

Cain’s thoughts drifted back to the syren, who laid unconscious just a room away. He wondered what she would be like, once she had gone through Obumbratio. Cain wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. While they had the materials to perform the procedure, it had never been done in the cabin of a ship. It held new risks, risks that Cain wasn’t sure he was ready to face. Although, it would be a challenge to keep the syren as she was throughout the voyage back to Dover. The trip would surely take another few months. The dilemma troubled Cain. He slouched further in his seat, a cigarette pursed between his lips. Cain knew he would discuss the topic with his colleagues, but he didn’t look forward to it. The seven of them could never agree on anything. However, their combined skill resulted in success within their work. Perhaps the circumstance would conclude that way. Either that, or they’d bicker all the way to Dover. 

The next morning, Cain woke early to check on the syren. Two sailors were posted outside the laboratory, ordered to alert the team of any abnormalities throughout the night. They informed Cain that nothing had happened. Cain thanked and dismissed them, cautiously walking into the laboratory. 

The syren hadn’t moved. She remained asleep, various tubes jutting from her arms and tail. Cain pulled rubber gloves onto his hands and approached the syren. He touched his fingers to her neck gently, observing her pulse. As he did so, her white lashes fluttered against her cheeks as her eyelids twitched. Cain pulled away and checked the tube that pumped the sedative into her body. It was located in her left elbow. In her right elbow was a tube that delivered a myriad of chemicals into her bloodstream, used to keep her hydrated. 

Behind Cain, the door opened. He lifted his gaze and watched Bishop stomp through the doorway. He had a sour look on his face as he tugged in his gloves and coat. 

“Good morning.” Cain mused, returning to his task. Bishop didn’t reply, as Cain expected. 

Bishop went to the other side of the table, parallel to Cain, and touched the syren’s neck. Cain thought to tell him that he’d already checked her pulse, but he knew it was useless. The men worked in silence. The other team members filed in, tugging on their attire and surrounding the table. Cain took a step back, looking between his colleagues. 

“Gentlemen,” Cain said, drawing his colleagues’ attention. “There is something we must discuss. We are extremely far from the motherland, as you all know. It’ll take another two—perhaps even three—months to get back. My question is: Should we proceed with the Obumbratio?” 

“It’d be risky,” said Vice. “We don’t have a complete laboratory, something could easily go awry.” 

Symond scoffed. “We can’t keep it unconscious for months. That would dry our entire sedative supply. We need to preserve it.” 

“I agree,” said Sladen. “It would drain our resources to keep it untransformed. It’s worth the risk.” 

“Are all of you mad?” Orchard exclaimed. “We’ve spent months on this damn boat to find this thing, and now we’re going to risk everything? It could die, we’d return empty-handed.” 

“Exactly,” spat Worrel. “We can’t rush a procedure such as this one. It’s stupid and reckless.” 

Bishop laughed bitterly. “You fools. Are we going to do nothing over the trip? Our mission was to capture the creature and transform it. Why the hell would we wait? If it dies, the body can still be presented for examination. We can’t leave it in this state.” 

The men began to bicker and murmur between themselves. Orchard seemed uncomfortable, his lips curled strangely. Cain believed they needed to wait. The process of Obumbratio was high-risk in a professional laboratory, there was no telling how dangerous it could be in the cabin of a ship. Cain glanced at the syren. Her face was eerily peaceful as she slept. His heart twisted within his chest. 

“Alright,” Cain announced. “We will vote on it. If you believe the Obumbratio should be performed immediately, raise your hand.” 

Symond, Sladen, Vice and Bishop raised their hands. After a moment, Orchard raised his hand as well. Worrel glared at him as he did so. 

“Raise your hand if you believe the procedure should be delayed.” Cain ordered.

Worrel and Cain raised their hands. Across from Cain, Bishop smirked. 

“It’s decided then,” Bishop mused. “The Obumbratio will be performed as soon as possible.” 

Bishop acted as though he led the team, and it infuriated Cain. The old man wasn’t able to realize that he was no longer at the top of the pyramid. He was, long ago. But it wasn’t Cain’s fault that Bishop’s reputation was ruined. He had done that all himself. 

Cain had worked through sweat and tears to be where he stood. He sure as hell wasn’t going to allow Bishop to bully him into submission. However, that would have to wait. His team had made a decision, and he respected it. 

“Alright then, gentlemen,” Cain said. “Let us begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Obumbratio begins. Cain and his team wonder if the mission will fail or succeed. Meanwhile, the syren lays unconscious, completely unaware of the transformation her body is going through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so sorry it has taken so long for an update, I didn't have much motivation to work on this story but I decided I'd really like to. I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think! I really appreciate feedback!

The next day, the process began. Cain had attempted to report to the Institution by telephone, but the connection was far too poor. He wasn’t sure if parts of his message—if any—reached them. He simply had to hope they knew what Cain and his team were preparing. If something went wrong, it would fall on Cain. At first, he was flustered by this. He reminded himself that great leaders went down with their teams. They learned from their failures as well as their successes. Cain hoped he could do the same. 

Cain and his team looked strange. They were covered from head to toe in thick white fabric. They wore clear glasses and masks, and rubber gloves on their hands. Preparation was vital during the process. Although their makeshift laboratory was a disadvantage, they would attempt to treat it as a normal workplace. They had most of the needed materials and a diligent work ethic. All they needed was a God sent miracle that everything would go without a hitch.

The syren was cleaned thoroughly with water and alcohol. She was still put under, it had been nearly three days. The chemicals that were pumped into her bloodstream kept her from becoming completely dehydrated. Her hair had dried, it was stiff and stringy from the saltwater. Bishop had inserted a port into her stomach, attached to a long feeding tube. The sailors had acquired a bucket of fish and liquidated it, resulting in a sour-smelling bucket of brownish liquid. It was pumped through the tube and into the syren’s stomach. The team debated if they should insert a tube for waste, but ultimately decided against it. The aray of tubes would get in the way and slow them down. They didn’t want the syren under for more than an additional four days. 

Everything beneath the syren’s navel was placed into a plastic pouch. The pouch was sturdy and long, sealed tightly against the skin of her waist. Two tubes weaved through the pouch, one pumping oxygen and the other pumping a combination of water and alcohol. Another tube was put into the syren’s mouth, extended down her airway. Various natural gases were poured into her lungs. The syreni could breathe many gases at once, as a result of their water-filled habitats. While the syren’s lungs could absorb air, the sudden increase of oxygen intake could cause her body to go into shock. It was safer to ease the body into its new habitat. 

The team scrambled around the laboratory. Some prepared the specific chemical mixtures while others prepared materials. Cain prepared a typewriter in the corner of the room. He would not perform the Obumbratio, he wasn’t qualified to do such a surgery. His purpose was to supervise the process and record it. He would serve his cause when the syren awoke. If she survived the Obumbratio. 

A sailor sat beside the syren on a stool, a tattoo machine beside him. The syren’s left wrist was in his hand. The machine buzzed harshly as the sailor etched heavy black numbers into the pale skin. 

The tiny office had been filled with microscopes and petri dishes. Worrel sat diligently, focused on the syren’s samples of cells and blood. As the molecular biologist, Worrel was to gather the cells’ reactions as they were manipulated. Symond—as the biochemist— contributed to the process. They stared into the lenses of the microscope, fiddling with the setting and cautiously applying different compounds to the cells. 

Louis Worrel was one of the Institution’s finest scientists, and Cain knew he could have faith in him. Their times at King’s College London had overlapped, although Cain had overlapped, although Cain had been several years younger. He vividly remembered Worrel and his friends providing expensive beer to the younger students, which had quickly won the students’ favor. Cain himself had participated in drunken dorm parties, where he acquainted himself with Worrel. When Cain acquired his goal of finding work at the DSOI, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find Worrel employed there. To his surprise, Worrel remembered him. Although no longer the provider of beer, Worrel was able to help Cain in stressful times. 

Worrel and Symond’s duty throughout the Obumbratio was to extract the syren’s cells and observe its DNA, the entire makeup of her chromosomes and nucleotides. They began by observing any abnormalities within the collected cells. If any defects were discovered, the syren would be ineligible for the Obumbratio. If none were discovered, then they would gather basic information, which they had done. Then, the men would carefully mutate the cells, adding certain chemicals that forced the cells to multiply. After treated with chemicals, the men began the most crucial aspect of the procedure. They mutated the syren’s cells with those of a human, mostly stem cells that had been previously manipulated. They were combined and added to a serum of mixtures. These would then be injected into the syren. 

However, the serum could not be injected before Bishop and Sladen performed surgery. They were to remove a small bone, at the very base of the syren’s spine, called the Rhymar bone. The small bone housed the Ocadric gland, which produced hormones that would attack the new cells. The lack of these hormones would allow the body to transition.

After hours of work, Worrel and Symond exited the office and presented four serum-filled syringes. They were placed into a cooling box to preserve them as the surgery was performed. 

Cain cracked his knuckles as he settled in the chair before the typewriter. He knew he would be typing for the entire length of the procedure. To the right of him, the team had moved the syren onto her left side, her chest curled in slightly to expose the small of her back. Bishop stood at the syren’s right side, adjusting the tray of scalpels beside him. Sladen and Vice walked around the table and checked the myriad of tubes. Worrel and Symond scrambled around the office, and Orchard stood beside Cain, his eyes slightly glazed. 

Similarly to Cain, Orchard specialized in marine biology, although Cain had a second degree pertaining to psychology. Orchard was assisting Cain by relying certain details throughout the Obumbratio. Cain prayed that his colleague wouldn’t faint at the first sight of blood. Orchard already looked green in the face.

Cain withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Sladen, Vice, and Orchard looked to him, expectant. Bishop wasn’t, he stared intently at the syren, scalpel in hand. 

“Alright, gentlemen.” Cain mused. “Best of luck. Let’s begin.” 

~~~

Later—seven hours and twenty seconds later, to be exact— the removal of the Rhymar bone and Ocadric gland was complete. Cain’s fingers ached, but he pressed on, furiously tapping the keys of the typewriter. He’d written ten pages, describing each minute detail; measurements of the incision, size of the gland and bone, and the actions taken explained in great length. The bone was thrown onto a metal tray; the bone was slightly heart shaped, smaller than the palm of Cain’s hand. The gland sat beside the bone, blue in color and coated in dark red blood. Bishop and Sladen stitched up the gaping wound and turned the syren onto her back. The syringes were extracted from the cooling box and brought to the surgeons. Bishop picked one from the tray and unsheathed the needle, which was about six inches in length. After giving it a tap, Bishop inserted the needle, an inch above her hip. The second went into her neck, the third into her navel, and the fourth into her other hip. Cain recorded the process, then scratched his beard. The serum had entered her bloodstream. They now had to wait. There was no telling how long the process would take,or if the process of transition would begin at all. Cain prayed it would. The men hadn’t dedicated months of their lives to the cause only to fail. Success was only an arm’s length away. Cain gazed at the syren and hoped.

The plastic pouch was no longer pumped full of oxygen. The oxygen tube sucked in the gases already within the pouch, causing it to shrink slightly. As the syren’s body was transformed, the mutating flesh would emit heat. To prevent overheating, the heat was released into the tube. Various mixtures continued to pump into the pouch, lubricating the shifting muscle and bone. 

Bishop, Sladen, and Vice examined the syren’s breathing and feeding tubes. Vice collected another blood sample and took it to the office to be examined by Worrel and Symund. After doing such, the men stepped away, rubbing the exhaustion from their eyes. Cain sat back in his chair and flexed his fingers. All they could do was wait.

~~~

The next two days were a game of patience. Cain and his colleagues observed the syren’s progress every two hours and recorded it. To the mens’ delight, the Obumbratio was working absolutely beautifully. 

Cain had never seen anything like it. It began with the fin of the syren’s tail. The fin rapidly decreased in size, more and more until it was hardly recognizable. It had become soft and fleshy, similar to raw meat. The syren’s scales lost their stiffness and gradually melded into vulnerable white flesh. The tail became nothing more than an elongated limb; scales and fins were no longer visible, and the syren’s skin tautened. As more hours passed, Cain noticed the tail-- or whatever was left of the tail-- widened. The bones were separating; although the bones separated gradually, Cain had no doubt that the process was succeeding. 

As they waited, Cain made up for the lost hours of sleep. After doing so, he entertained himself by playing cards with his colleagues or exchanging stories with Captain Street. He spent time by himself on the deck of the ship, simply admiring the ocean. The cold air bit his skin, but he didn’t mind much. It was worth it to gaze at the calm saltwater below. It always amazed Cain how different the ocean could be. It was as though it had its own personality; it could be angry and drown an entire ship, or it could be as steady as a heartbeat, cradling a ship. It often reminded Cain of a quote he had once read in a book by Virginia Woolf: “So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again as she sat with the children the words of some old cradle song, murmured by nature, 'I am guarding you—I am your support’”. The quote resonated with Cain, and it often brought him a feeling of calm. It often loomed in his thoughts, for Cain believed there was always something to be considered. 

On the second day, the syren’s legs formed. Her bones and muscles had separated to become two individual limbs. The limbs appeared distorted at first; they lacked the presence of distinct joints or feet. However, several hours later, the men were overjoyed; where the syren’s tail once was were two pale legs. The transformation of her tail had changed the syren’s size drastically, she was less than half her previous length. But as the men examined her newly formed body, it was very clear. The Obumbratio had been a success.

~~~

The syren’s new legs were wrapped in ribbons of cloth. The tubes were removed, and the holes they left were wrapped. The feeding and breathing tubes were left intact. She was lifted and placed onto a gurney, then transported to the second floor of the ship, one floor beneath the laboratory. During the Obumbratio, a cabin had been prepared to hold the syren. It was small and sparsely decorated; a bed with a metal frame was pushed against the wall, and diagonal from it was a single wingback chair in the corner. The walls had no wallpaper, only bare metal displayed on the walls and formed. A metal flush door led to the compact bathroom. It would do just fine. 

Cain watched from beside the wingback chair as the syren was laid upon the bare mattress. She was still unconscious, but Cain was sure she’d wake in a day or two. 

Lastly, the men placed thick leather restraining mitts on the syren’s hands, secured with long straps attached to the bottom rail of the bed frame. A leather mask--muzzle, rather-- was strapped onto her face. Cain and his colleagues examined her once more and recorded her status. 

Cain felt relieved. Part of him felt as though the mission was complete, but Cain knew that was far from the truth. While the Obumbratio was complete, the challenge was yet to be faced. There was no telling what the future held, not while the syren was asleep. When she woke, Cain’s true mission would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be helpful if I released a list of the team members' profiles? (Names, Ages, Appearance, Job, ect). I know I mention it within the story, but I know it can be confusing at times. Please let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The syren awakens and reacts to her new environment. Cain struggles with the duties that come with his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think and please leave me feedback, or if you have any questions! Thank you so much for reading!

The first thing she felt was pain. Her entire body throbbed with dull, aching pain, and she didn’t know why. She felt something soft beneath her, pressed against her bare skin. Something covered her face, and it stayed in place when she shifted her head. Her hands were wrapped--from the feel of it, it was the same something that covered her face--and her hands jolted when she tried to lift them. Confusion clouded her mind. She tried once more to move her hands, but it didn’t work. Just then, she noticed the noises around her--voices. She forced herself to ignore the throbbing ache throughout her body, and warily cracked open her eyes. They were dry and uncomfortable. She cringed as blaring light flashed into her vision. She squinted. This light wasn’t warm, like the sun. It was cold, cold and harsh. It hurt her eyes, but she opened them anyway. She saw grey above her, along with the cold circle of light. Then she saw the faces. Male faces. She knew they weren’t the faces of her kind, they were faces of the two-finned. They spoke with strange noises that she couldn’t understand. One of the faces grew closer to her own; she tried to move away but a hand grabbed her face. It was hurting her. She struggled against the hold, but it held her tight as it flashed something into her eyes. It made her dizzy. With all the strength she could muster, she began to buck and twist. Pain shot through her body, but she paid it no mind. She had to get away. She had to get away. She extended her talons, but they were blocked by something hard. She could barely move her arms. She bared her teeth, attempting to find somewhere to bite her attackers, but her eyes couldn’t focus. She could barely lift her head. Everything hurt. Everything hurt. She had to get away, she had to flee. She couldn’t move. Everything hurt. She snapped her teeth. She hissed. She thrashed. Where was her mother? Where was her father? Where were her brothers and sisters? Everything hurt, everything hurt. She couldn’t see, her eyes were blurred. The hands, they grabbed her. She screamed. Everything hurt. Something sharp poked her neck. She whined and squirmed. She had to get away, everything hurt--

Her world went dark. 

~~~

“God, I’m fucking spent,” Symond exclaimed. He sat across from Cain at the round mahogany table; it was covered by a satin table cloth, and upon it sat platters of food. Simmering plates of pork and cooked fruit emitted a pleasant aroma, and Cain’s mouth watered as he reached for a freshly baked bagel. “I’ve barely had a wink of sleep. It’s pretty damn miraculous I haven’t lost my wits.”

“You haven’t any wits to lose.” Orchard mused. He held an entire jug of coffee in his hand. Worrel had almost thrown him overboard when he saw it, cursing him for stealing most of their coffee supply. “All you’ve lost is your will to live.” 

Symond laughed. “Says the man that nearly pissed himself when the bitch hissed at him.” 

Orchard’s face went red. “Shut it! It was...I wasn’t scared, you podge, it caught me off guard.” He glared between Worrel and Cain. “He’d do the same, wouldn’t he? You know he would.” 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Symond mused. “Some of us have weaker bladders than others.” 

Orchard began blabbering, his face scarlet. Cain rolled his eyes. Oliver Orchard was low hanging fruit when it came to teasing. 

“Do you want to know what I miss?” Worrel said suddenly, unprompted. He held a piece of pork in front of his face, gazing at it almost philosophically. 

“Enlighten me, dear friend.” Cain replied, swallowing a mouthful of bagel and tapping his cigarette against his ashtray. 

“Pubs.” Worrel said. “I miss pubs. Especially the Emerald Wick. That was my favorite.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve never been. What’s it like?”

“It’s a beauty, absolutely vibrant.” Worrel rested his chin atop his knuckles, gazing rather whimsically at the food. “Oh, what I’d give to be there this very second.” 

Cain hummed thoughtfully. “I understand that. I love the ocean, but I do miss the trees. Especially at Ryte Park, have you ever been?”

“I’m terribly bored.” Symond announced. “I wish the thing was awake, I want to finish my notes. Vice gave it took much sedative.” 

“Are you mad?” Orchard sputtered. “It was thrashing. It could’ve taken out an eye or--” 

“Ollie, Ollie!” Symond interrupted. “Don’t be so prudish. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten in over your head…” 

“I haven’t! I just don’t appreciate how...unhinged the thing is.”

“She was frightened,” Cain said. “Nothing more. We’ll make sure this one isn’t an Elanor. We have everything under control.” 

“Exactly,” Symond said. “At least one of us has wits.” 

Orchard’s fists clenched. “I have wits too, you imbecile!” 

Cain sighed. Breakfast was never peaceful when his colleagues were involved. After the syren’s first awakening, Cain had needed a moment to step away, a moment to draw his mind away from the mission. Talking to his colleagues about something different had helped him, but he wouldn’t allow himself to become distracted for too long. He had the most vital task of the entire mission, to care for and observe the syren. None of his other colleagues were assigned such a task; Cain had the most knowledge of psychology, as well as syreni behavior. The job wouldn’t be easy, but Cain felt prepared. 

“Well, gentlemen,” Cain announced, rising from his seat. “I best get back.” 

“Alright, but don’t get bit. I’d hate to have to put it down after all that work.” Symond replied.

The statement lingered in Cain’s mind as he walked away. 

~~~

Cain placed his journal and book on the dusty wingback chair. His pen was tucked neatly in the pocket of his vest, and he tapped it as he shrugged off his overcoat. He rested it against the back of the chair. He picked up the journal and sat down. Across from him, the syren laid unconscious. Her breathing tube had been removed two days prior. Before he settled, Cain had removed the muzzle from her face. He hoped its absence would help her breathing. He wasn’t worried she’d try to bite him. She couldn’t move with the restraints, and her body was still healing. She’d be much too weak. If need be, Cain knew the syringes filled with sedatives sat in a metal box by the chair. 

There was nothing to record in his notes, so Cain decided to read. He was rereading the Odyssey, one of his favorites. Lazily, he folded his ankle over his knee and sat back in the chair. After a moment, Cain withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. 

Muse, tell me of a man who was made to wander far and long. Many were the men whose lands he saw and came to know their thinking.

Cain had always been fond of that line. Frankly, he thought that with every line. However, he could never make up his mind as to how he interpreted the passage of the text. Whenever he analyzed them, he was always able to relay several meanings to the intricate sentences. At times, he wondered if he was simply fretting over something mynute. Then he thought: Well, what do poets do, then? Their entire career was worrying over words and pacing and meanings. Cain couldn’t imagine. 

As he pondered, Cain took a drag of his cigarette. Smoke wafted through the air, the smell blunt. Cain pulled his cigarette from his lips and glanced at the syren. Two pale blue eyes gazed back at him. 

They stared at each other. The syren’s head was turned slightly, her eyes as wide as a doe’s. Cain couldn’t read her expression; her face was blank. Slowly, he closed his book and rested it on the arm of the chair. Warily, he smiled. 

“Hello.”

As expected, the syren simply continued to stare blankly. 

“You’ve been asleep for some time. A week, to be exact. Anyway, I believe introductions are in order.” 

He took a drag from his cigarette. The syren stared. 

“My name is Cain Westower. I’m very happy I’ve been able to say that to you. We’ll be spending much time together.” 

Cain tapped his cigarette against the metal floor, putting it out. He stood and walked towards the syren’s bed, his hands tucked neatly in his pockets. 

“I won’t hurt you, I want you to know that. I know you’re in pain, but I’m going to help you.” 

He halted, running a hand over his face. “You can’t understand a word I’m saying, but I wanted to say it anyway. Just so you know--perhaps on a more...spiritual level.” He chuckled. “Now I’m rambling.”

Cain took another step towards the syren. The syren watched him intently, then hissed softly, a warning. Cain remained where he was, simply standing there. Showing her that he posed no threat. The syren stared, then shifted her head, looking down at her own body, most likely trying to find her wound. 

Cain noticed her stare lock on her tail, or rather, where her tail used to be. Two short legs had taken their place, individually bound with cloth. The syren’s eyes snapped to Cain, as wide as the moon. He couldn’t read her expression. That was until her lips began to tremble, and her bare chest began to rise and fall rapidly. She began to cry, nearly-opaque silver tears falling down her pale cheeks. 

Cain’s heart felt as heavy as lead. “Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

He extended a hand towards her, but quickly caught himself. His hand fell to his side and he watched her. 

“Everything will be alright, I promise. Don’t cry.”

He wished he had a name to call her in that moment. He looked down at her wrist, where the angry black number 165145 was tattooed. Cain frowned. He sure as hell wasn’t going to call her 165145. He decided to focus on that later. 

Cain sat down on the metal floor. He wanted the syren to grow comfortable to him, but he wasn’t ready to touch her yet. He’d have to wait a few more days. A part of him hoped she was comforted by his presence, in some way. He felt strangely helpless as he watched the syren cry. Subject 1211514--Laurence White-- hadn’t reacted this way. Cain wanted to record the observation, but he didn’t move. He stared at the syren and wished he could wipe her tears away. 

~~~

That evening, Vice and Bishop unwrapped the syren’s legs to observe their healing progress. The skin had thickened considerably, no longer as thin as paper. The muscles, however, were still developing. Cain had no doubt they’d strengthen when the syren began to walk. 

The syren had been muzzled once more, and thrashed as the doctors poked and prodded her. The men paid her no mind. 

“It was rather strange,” Cain said, watching Bishop press his fingers to the flesh of the syren’s thigh. “Subject 1211514 hadn’t reacted in such a way. By crying, I mean.” 

Bishop ignored him. Vice shrugged, checking the feeding tube. 

“You’re the psychologist, Westower.” Vice replied. “Shouldn’t you be telling us?” 

“I’m thinking aloud,” Cain said. “I’ll keep it in mind. I don’t have enough information.” 

“Obviously.” said Bishop. 

He lifted the syren’s leg and bent it at the knee. The syren cried in pain. Bishop lifted the other leg and bent it, then did the same with her ankles. The syren tried to pull away, but Bishop gripped her tight as he examined her newly formed joints. 

“Healthy so far,” Vice said. “We’ll see if the bones have strengthened tomorrow. If it’s relatively docile, we’ll take out the feeding tube.” 

Cain nodded. “Alright. As I said, I must gather more information.” 

“We head north tomorrow,” Vice told him. Bishop had walked out of the room, nose buried in his notes. “Street’s men gathered plenty of fish.” He frowned at the bucket of fish slush. 

Cain shrugged. “I should have her off the feeding tube soon. Give me time, my friend.”

Vice glanced at the syren, whose eyes flickered between the men. “Be cautious. We don’t need someone else losing a limb. Or a life, for that matter.” 

“Well, I haven’t yet,” Cain replied. “I suppose I’ll have to keep trying.”

Vice didn’t laugh. 

That night, after he had washed the sweat and saltwater from his body, Cain lounged on his bed, his book in his lap. He’d scanned through his notes so many times that he was tired of his own words. Sleep refused to come to him, and his thoughts swarmed like angry bees. He didn’t know what to do with himself. All he could think of was the syren. 

Two sailors had been stationed to watch over her, with one inside the room while another stood outside. When Cain had left the cabin, the syren had watched him go. 

Cain thought of her tears, how they had stained her face. He thought of the sadness that had filled her precious blue eyes. 

His eyes scanned the pages of the Odyssey, not absorbing the message of the words. His gaze landed on a single word: Penelope. Cain thought of the syren, and how utterly human she had looked when she cried.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The syren receives a new name. Cain begins to build a relationship with the syren and makes progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! As always, please leave a comment and feedback! I'd love to here your opinions. Thank you!!!

Cain decided to call the syren Penelope. He told her such when he came to her cabin, prepared to simply sit and allow her to adjust to his presence.

“I know that isn’t your birth name,” he told her as he sat on the floor, cigarette between his lips. “But I think it’ll suit you just fine. It’s a lovely name. There’s a character in the Odyssey--one of my favorites, might I add, it’s brilliant-- named Penelope. She’s the hero’s bride, it is very pleasant. I’m rambling again, but I don’t think you mind.”

The syren--Penelope-- stared at him blankly. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, Cain had woken her when he arrived. He could tell she wanted to sleep more, but she wouldn’t while he was there. 

Throughout the day, Cain rambled on and on about unimportant things. He shifted around the room, moving between the chair and the floor, carefully inching closer to Penelope. All the while, she stared. 

He rose from his place at the foot of the bed, legs tired and sore. He’d been monologuing about his summer trip to New York several years prior, but he decided he had to push Penelope’s limits. He knew if he didn’t start doing so soon, they wouldn’t make any progress. 

“Penelope,” He said to her, “Please remember, I won’t hurt you. Just remember that.” 

Cain sat on the bed, directly beside Penelope’s right leg. Immediately, she cringed away and scrunched up her face, a hiss-like whine escaping her lips. Cain sat completely still. Penelope squirmed uncomfortably, whining, telling Cain to go away. He didn’t, he stayed where he was. She tried to move her leg, but cried in pain as she did so. Cain winced at the sound.

“Sweetheart, you’re fine. Stop hurting yourself.” 

Penelope tugged at the restraints. Not angrily, though. She tugged on them lightly, curiously. She ceased her hissing and turned to look at the restraints. Cain smiled. 

“Those are mitts. They keep your talons in, so they don’t hurt anyone. Or yourself, for that matter.”

Cain shifted and Penelope’s eyes snapped to him. Deep in her throat, she hissed. He rolled her eyes. 

“Please, no need for that. I thought we made a promise, didn’t we? No need for dramatics, sweetheart. Anyway, how about I bore you with a story of my great aunt Margaret?” Penelope stared. He chuckled. “So much enthusiasm. If you insist, Penelope. Aunt Margaret was deaf, and my god, did my siblings and I get a kick out of it--”

~~~

The next two days, Cain did the same thing. He spent his entire day in Penelope’s cabin, sitting and talking and observing. At times, he would say nothing at all to her, he’d simply sit and read his book. Other times, he continued to tell her random stories, just to speak and allow her to hear his voice. He knew she didn’t understand the words he spoke, but she could certainly hear him. She hadn’t done anything worth examination; Penelope had remained still in her bed, hissing and squirming whenever someone got too close, and was fed through the feeding tube. She stared and stared, her icy eyes wary and curious. She would move occasionally, attempting to look at certain things around the room, such as her restraints, the mattress, the chair. Cain could tell she was curious, which he scribbled in his notes. He hoped her curiosity would work in his favor, that Penelope would have the desire to learn. He reminded himself that that could change, once she began to walk. 

She clearly disliked when he smoked near her. She stared at the cigarette in his hand, and sniffed whenever he exhaled smoke. Penelope made a face when the smell wafted to her. 

Cain smiled and put it out. “I’m sorry. I know, it is rather strong.” 

Penelope stared at him, nothing new. They watched one another, silence overtaking the room. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Cain sat back in the chair, relaxed by the feeling of fabric around him. The cabin was warm and calming. Cain glanced at Penelope. 

Her lips were parted. It unease Cain. Her mouth was always closed, albeit when she hissed. However, her lips were gaped in a very strange way; it wasn’t aggressive, simply desperate. Her eyes never left him as she closed her mouth, then opened it, then closed it. As if she was tasting the air. Cain frowned, his brow furrowed. He watched her for a moment, forcing himself to ignore the steadily rising feeling of unease within him. 

“What?” He asked stiffly. “What is it?”

Penelope closed her mouth and swallowed, then cringed. As if it hurt to swallow. 

Abruptly, Cain realized. “You’re thirsty.” He glanced at the feeding tube. “Technically, you are hydrated. But it isn’t the same for you, I know.”

A glass sat on the floor beside the wingback chair. Cain had brought it several days before, for himself. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cain grabbed the glass and filled it in the washroom sink. He brought it into the room, and sat beside Penelope. She didn’t hiss; she had gotten relatively used to his presence near her. 

Cain knew he could easily put himself in danger. Penelope wore no muzzle, she could have fooled him into helping, could bite him and leave him for dead. Cain knew, yet he was entirely unafraid. He clutched the glass of water tightly in one hand, and led it to the gaping lips of the syren. Penelope watched him, her expression unreadable. Cain pressed the glass to her lip and tilted it, encouraging her to drink. She could easily twist her head away and bite his wrist. She could mutilate his fingers, just inches away from her. He’d seen it time and time again, at University. Elanor’s attack ran through his mind. The poor, foolish student, so overtaken by excitement, leaning over the tank. His hand extended into the water. Elanor circled through the water, seemingly calm and content. The student had leaned forward, just an inch. Elanor had struck. She had taken hold of the student’s arm and dragged him into the tank. Cain would never forget the screams, the blood in the water, the student’s arm--bone, muscle, and flesh--completely gone. 

The syren before him showed no hostility. Her eyes, blue as a glacier, gazed at him with a sort of wonder. Cain knew he’d learn to read her well. He prayed he’d read her well enough to know she wouldn’t strike. It was reckless. He knew it was reckless. However, he had an odd faith in her. If his colleagues were in the room, they’d certainly laugh at him. Bishop always told him he was too sentimental. Cain didn’t care. He often acted on logic, not intuition. In that moment, he acted upon a pull, a desire to help this female that could turn on him at any second. 

Cain pressed the glass to Penelope’s lips and tilted it. She could easily twist and take off his hand. But she didn’t. Penelope drank desperately, gulping it down like she’d been deprived of water all her life. Droplets escaped her lips and ran down her chin. The glass was empty in seconds. Penelope sighed and licked her lips. She looked content. 

Cain looked at the water left on her face. He decided to take another risk. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and touched it to her face. Penelope flinched, squirming to see what had touched her. Cain pulled back his hand and showed her the fabric. 

“Just a handkerchief. It’s fabric to wipe your face.” 

He pressed it to Penelope’s cheek. The syreni used touch to investigate and connect, often using the cheek. While the cheek was mostly used to communicate emotion with other syreni, it helped them identify objects as well. 

He held the handkerchief to her cheek for a minute, allowing her to feel it, then pulled away. Carefully, he wiped her chin. Penelope let him, staying still and watching him. Cain pulled away and grinned at her, relief and enthusiasm causing his heart to race. 

“Penelope,” he said to her, “We’re going to get along just splendidly.” 

~~~

“Penelope? That’s an ugly name.” Symond said, frowning. 

“Oh, hush,” Worrel replied, shifting the cards in his hands, “No one asked you. It doesn’t matter, anyway, it’s just a nickname.”

“It’s alright, Louis,” Cain said, his tone bubbling with annoyance. “Melvin is entitled to his opinion.”

“That’s great that the female is growing more comfortable with you,” Worrel said. “Still, I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“If I had my way,” interjected Symond, “It would’ve started walking days ago. There’s no need to coddle it.”

“Coddling gets you nowhere.” Sladen agreed. 

The four men were playing cards in the office, cards laid neatly upon the desk’s surface.

“I want her to trust me, don’t I?” Cain replied. “Time and patience, gentlemen. I’m having her walk tomorrow. Her muscles are still developing.”

“Give it the steroids, from storage,” said Symond. “That will aid muscle progression.”

Sladen shook his head. “That could affect the stem cells. Too risky.” 

Cain was uncomfortable with the idea, but he said nothing. He placed another card on the table. 

“Like I said, she just needs time.” It felt as though no one was listening to him. Cain held his cards tighter. Were they simply going to ignore him? Surely he’d done right by them throughout the voyage. He assured himself that they were just eager, nothing more. Cain didn’t want to disappoint any of his men. His father always told him he was too quick to please. 

“We’re close to South Africa,” Sladen said. “We’ll be able to recoup once we port.” 

“Forget recouping,” Symond exclaimed, “Once we port, I’m getting the hell off this boat. Do you have any idea how long I’ve gone without sex? God, we might as well be celibate.” 

Worrel laughed. “Indeed. I’m quite surprised we’ve managed to stay aboard; I bet my brother fifty pounds someone would be overboard by the time we reached the arctic.” 

“I’m close to,” Symond said sadly. “The ocean is nothing compared to a wonderful fuck, yes?” 

Cain shifted in his seat. His eye twitched slightly and he pressed his cigarette into the ashtray. An insult danced along his tongue, but he checked himself. 

“I believe it's time for me to turn in gentlemen,” Cain murmured, his limbs heavy and strained. “Until tomorrow. Have a wonderful evening.” 

His colleagues murmured their goodnights and continued their conversation. Cain rose from his seat and left the office.

He couldn’t help but feel somewhat doubtful. Whatever he did, Cain never seemed to please his colleagues, they were all on different pages when it came to the mission. He was unsure why he felt so uneasy. They had differing opinions to Cain, nothing more, nothing less. He was their leader, he reminded himself. When it came to Penelope, he was in control. At least he thought he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hoped you liked it! Thank you for reading!


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